


Top House (Give Me Everything)

by Anotherlostblogger, poiregourmande



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series), Buzzfeed Unsolved Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Noir, Anal Sex, Buzzfeed Cinematic Universe, Comeplay, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, However anything that happens within the fic is consensual (power dynamics aside), Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Period-Typical Homophobia, Power Dynamics, Shameless Smut, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Sex, top Ricky
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-19 23:51:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14248497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anotherlostblogger/pseuds/Anotherlostblogger, https://archiveofourown.org/users/poiregourmande/pseuds/poiregourmande
Summary: Ricky Goldsworth gets everything (and everyone) that he wants. He has Tinseltown wrapped around his finger—nothing shows this as clearly his hold on its mayor, who he's brought, steadily to his knees.





	1. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Em (poiregourmande) and my (Anotherlostblogger) brainchild: our own interpretation of the incredible BFU Cinematic Universe thanks to many wild discussions on the Post Mortem, fan edits and art on Tumblr, and deliciously dirty chats with each other.
> 
> What follows will be a tale of power, sex, and maybe even love.
> 
> Most importantly, our cast:  
> Ryan Bergara as Ricky Goldsworth  
> Shane Madej as the (shorter, closer to Ricky's height) Alexander Mayer (The Mayor)
> 
> Enjoy!

The glint of the blade catches Alexander Mayer’s eye. A reminder that he’s holding a deadly weapon to Ricky Goldsworth’s throat. If there ever was a time to make an attempt on his life, it would be now. They’re alone in Goldsworth Manor, it’s late, no one would find the body until the following morning – by which time Alexander would be far away. 

This is his shot at freedom – his shot at regaining the dignity he lost when Goldsworth rolled into town and stripped him of his title of Mayor, of any sort of control, of his fortune. 

It would be so easy to steal his life - his head tilted back, throat exposed. In less than a minute, Alexander would be free.  
Maybe Goldsworth knows this. Maybe it’s all a test and this is why he ordered Alexander to shave him. He knows Alexander can’t do it. He knows he’s too much of a coward, or maybe he likes this new life when no one expect anything from him but following orders. 

Alexander’s hands shake so much, the mother-of-pearl handle almost slipping out of his sweaty grasp. Goldsworth’s hand closes around his wrist.

“Careful,” he warns, his tone dangerous but syrupy, almost magnetically pulling Alexander in. “Need me to show you how?” he asks sweetly.

Alexander knows how to shave – he’s been doing it every day for the past fifteen years – but somehow it feels like his first time holding a razor. His only answer is a nervous gulp.

Goldsworth stands up, directs Alexander to sit in his place, and sets a warm towel over his face. Alexander’s tense demeanor immediately relaxes, but his heart soon starts beating out of his chest again, when Goldsworth removes the towel and approaches the blade from his face.

Goldsworth is, however, surprisingly gentle as he uses the razor.

“You gotta go with the grain,” he purrs, his voice is low and soft, but those dark eyes flicker and meet Alexander’s, “or else you'll end up with blood on your hands.”

He nicks Alexander, very slightly but deliberately, and Alexander flinches. Goldsworth holds his jaw steady as he gathers a droplet of blood with his thumb, holds it up to Alexander. 

“And I don't think that's something you're prepared to do, is it?”

It isn’t.

What that says about the kind of man he is, Alexander Mayer isn’t quite sure.

It hadn’t started out this way. When Goldsworth had rolled into town and asked him – told him – he wanted him, specifically, as his servant, it had seemed like a joke. A cruel joke, one he couldn’t quite understand. But Ricky knew what he wanted, and he knew exactly how he would get it. 

It was a dangerous time to be in Hollywood. Put aside those visions of blood money, bars of gold and machine guns. Everyone knows the real currency here was secrets. 

Even without all this status, furtive looks and passions with similarly-minded actors behind closed doors were only as secret as you could afford. As it turned out, the price of his shame cost a fortune. 

What did the king of crime want for his silence? Everything.

Goldsworth got great pleasure in making the mayor of Tinseltown clean his house, making him polish his furniture, sweep the floor, shine his shoes. 

It did not escape him that Goldsworth liked him kneeling there. The perfect image of his vision of Hollywood brought to its knees. 

Ricky liked to parade his women in and out of the house, rubbing it in his face; the fact of the matter was that the price of his love was his freedom. 

And that said a lot on the kind of man Alexander Mayer was.


	2. To Wreck A Mayor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goldsworth's mistress is in town, which only ever means one thing. Somehow, Alexander never expected to get this close a look.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Introducing Helen Pan as Francesca Norris. 
> 
> Fair warning: here comes the smut. (Do do do do).

Moonlight illuminates the bronze expanses of Francesca Norris’ skin. Dark hair pools down her back as she unclips it from the severe bun she had worn all day to pass for a respectable lady.

“We're gonna run this town, baby,” Ricky Goldsworth says, running his fingers along her smooth shoulders, delighting in the way her curtain of hair frames her delicate face.

“Darling, we already do.” She laughs, a clear, haughty sound that would chill his insides if he were a saner man.

He sits back in his armchair, a satisfied chuckle escaping his lips as she seats herself on his lap like on a throne, with the bearing of a queen.

Alexander Mayer tries not to look at them. He tries to do as he was told by Mr. Goldsworth – _stand in the corner, look down, don’t make a sound, and don’t you fucking move._ He really does try but it’s probably one of the hardest things he’s ever done. He’s blushing both from the effort and from the knowledge that his boss is about to have sex right there in front of him.

In some ways, Francesca is just another in a long line of Ricky’s playthings, but even under the relatively short time he’s served Ricky he knows that Miss Norris stands out from the rest. She’s the only one who can go toe-to-toe with Goldsworth, and more than that, she doesn’t treat Alexander like he’s invisible. She’s kind to him, or maybe it’s more honest to say that she flirts with him. Whether that’s to his betterment or his own demise has yet to be seen.

From the corner of his eye he sees clothes being discarded, hears a deep, rumbly groan and a high-pitched, breathy gasp and he can’t help looking up.

Miss Norris is riding Goldsworth, bouncing up and down in his lap, staring deep into Alexander’s eyes. He couldn’t look away if he wanted to – her gaze is magnetic. She smirks, eyebrow raised, as if to say _wouldn’t you like to be in my place?_

He knows he shouldn't watch, he has no idea what Goldsworth would do to him for looking at his woman, but she keeps daring him to look – just like she kept touching him earlier, while he was trying to work, teasing him. God, this lady is going to get him killed.

Goldsworth doesn’t spare one look at Alexander, never lets on that he noticed him watching, but he smirks, a dangerous grin that pulls Alexander in like a magnet.

“I bet you wish you could ride me like that,” Goldsworth bites. “I bet you’d scream my name until you forgot your own.”

Alexander blushes a deeper red and looks down at the tips of his shoes – his best pair of brogues, once religiously shined as is fitting for a Mayor’s image, now faded and in tatters from all the work Goldsworth orders him to do. He finds himself wishing, not for the first time, that his boss didn’t know about his... penchant for the masculine gender. It certainly doesn’t help that Goldsworth is the epitome of his sex: strong and dangerous, with this unquenched need for control.

Goldsworth likes to tease him like this: innuendos and touches, all under the guise of giving Alexander his daily tasks; but this is the first time he’d ever actually seen him in action: seen him fuck a beautiful woman the way he likes to tease he would fuck him. Usually it ends in a laugh, whether intentionally cruel or not, he isn’t sure, but it leaves him blushing and ashamed. Ashamed, if not only for his preferences than for his own foolish heart for beating just a little bit faster whenever Ricky feeds him any scrap of attention.

“Look at me when I talk to you.” Alexander whips around, unable to ignore the command. He takes an involuntary step towards the chair, his eyes widening in surprise at his boldness. He hopes he won’t be punished for it, although a part of him almost wishes he’ll be – he’s morbidly curious about what punishment Goldsworth would inflict upon him.

Goldsworth’s arms are bulging deliciously as he grips Miss Norris’ hips, slamming her into his lap. She throws her head back, a moan escaping her lips, and the moonlight caresses the smooth curve of her exposed neck.  

“You ever touch a woman before, Mayor?” Goldsworth asks, his entire attention focussed on Alexander even as a gorgeous woman sinks her fingers into his shoulders in the throes of passion. His eyes are dark. So dark.

Alexander’s face is pink as he shakes his head in the negative.

“C’mere,” Goldsworth orders, stilling his hips but remaining buried deep inside his lover. Miss Norris’ hair, usually piled high on her head is cascaded down her body, a silky ebony waterfall. Even with his own preferences, his eyes are drawn to her until the curve of her mouth when she sees him looking makes his eyes snap back to his master’s.

Alexander doesn’t remember moving his feet but the next thing he knows he’s standing next to the armchair and Goldsworth is talking to him again.

“Touch her.”

Alexander freezes, his eyes cutting to hers but as flushed as she is she doesn’t look upset. It’s a trap. It must be. He doesn’t dare move. Goldsworth’s eyes narrow.

“I said, touch her,” he repeats, dangerously low, and Alexander’s hand is on her breast before he can help it, his hand barely cupping it, his cheeks turning a dark pink.

“No, no, no,” Goldsworth says impatiently, and Alexander feels a jolt of fear, is about to apologize and pull back, but Goldsworth’s hand is on his wrist, and he guides Alexander’s hand, makes him grab and grope at her breast.

“There you go,” he rumbles and Alexander turns an even darker shade of pink. “That’s how you treat a pretty lady.”

And the lady is pretty, her breast warm and soft in his hand, but it doesn’t provoke quite the same reaction in Alexander as Goldsworth’s touch on his wrist. Tingles run up Alexander’s arm – he wishes the hand would stay there, as well as the proud look on Ricky’s face

“There you go,” Goldsworth purrs, his hand covering Alexander’s, “not so bad, huh?”

Alexander gulps and shakes his head and Goldsworth laughs.

“But not so great?” he guesses and Alexander stutters as he tries to reply, but Goldsworth guides his hand so he’s touching his arm instead, and of his own accord, against his better judgement, he gives Goldsworth’s bicep a tentative squeeze.

Miss Norris starts riding Goldsworth again, and it feels weird for Alexander to just stand there, holding his arm like this, while this is happening. Goldsworth’s gaze doesn’t leave Alexander once, and Alexander can almost imagine it’s just the two of them, but suddenly Francesca is screaming out _Ricky, yes!,_  and Goldsworth smirks, and turns his gaze back at her, seemingly forgetting all about Alexander’s presence. Alexander can feel Ricky’s arm strain under his fingers as he tightens his grip on her hips.

From the way Anexander is bowed over Francesca while she’s bouncing and screaming he can’t help the imagining he’s the one doing this to her. He starts to let go of Goldsworth’s arm, to take a step back, but Goldsworth just moves his hand so it’s got an easier grip around her, furthering the mental image that he’s taking her – no, that they both are sharing her, taking her from both ends, and Alexander’s mouth goes slack with a sudden spike of desire.

He can’t control it. His free hand goes straight to his cock, bulging as if trying to burst out of his trousers, and he frantically rubs himself, following the rhythm of Francesca’s hips.

Goldsworth’s eyes are incredibly dark as they watch him, like he wants to touch him and be touched, but he doesn’t ask for it: he lets Francesca be the mediator here, but then she’s almost there, her shouts becoming louder and louder. Goldsworth closes his eyes and presses his forehead against the back of her head to concentrate as he snaps his hips up inside her.

Francesca is close, so close. She brings a hand between her legs – a few flicks of her fingers and she’s coming, hard, biting her lips and gazing straight into Alexander’s soul.

Goldsworth holds her tightly as he fucks into her, and suddenly his voice is wrecked as he says, “Touch yourself.”

It takes a moment for Alexander to realize he’s talking to him and not Francesca, but when he does he almost tears the buttons off his trousers in his haste to wrap his hand around his cock, shoving his hand in without even bothering with his belt.

Goldsworth grunts loudly, now – “Fuck, fuck, _Alex,_ ” he says, and Alexander wasn’t even sure Goldsworth knew his first name, but it’s exactly the push he needed to come in his pants with a shuddering gasp.

Goldsworth’s hips stutter against Francesca and he comes inside of her with a loud growl. He lets go of her and she walks away, collapsing on the giant four-poster bed, breasts heaving and hair fanned out around her head. She’s never been more beautiful, but what really catches Alexander’s eye is Goldsworth’s come, trickling out of her still throbbing cunt.

“Hungry, Mr. Mayor?” Goldsworth asks, voice hoarse.

Alexander’s face is red and he knows Goldsworth is probably making fun of him, but something in his gaze makes Alexander nod. Goldsworth stares pointedly at Francesca, and Alexander realizes he’s serious.

Alexander makes his way to the bed on wobbly legs. He’s still not sure he should do it, but one look at Francesca tells him she’s absolutely into it. His fingers indent into her tan thighs as he pulls her close to him, bending in half to lick at her in a way that makes her shriek in surprise.

Filthy and delicious: that’s the first thought that comes to his mind as he darts a tentative tongue out between her folds. Her juices and Goldsworth’s mix together to coat Alexander’s tongue and deepen his hunger. He opens his mouth wide: he needs more. He’s never done this before – he doesn’t have a clue what he should do, but he licks and sucks and drinks the juices and, judging by the way her fingers weave into his hair, he must be doing a pretty good job.

Alexander's never been with a woman – somehow it didn't seem fair when he's always had such a strong attraction to men; it would have felt like lying to himself. Yet, even _he_ is aware of how beautiful Francesca is – as aware he is of how good she feels, how good she _tastes_ . He's tasting Ricky on her, _in_ her, and that just heightens every single one of his senses, all of them attuned to everything happening around him.

A strong hand makes its way down Alexander’s back, around his waist, and he soon hears the click of his belt pulled unbuckled and realizes Goldsworth is no longer in the chair, but behind him, sliding his palms down into Alexander’s underwear and grabbing at his ass in a way that makes him moan with his mouth full.

The moan seems to please Francesca – maybe because of the vibrations – and she closes her thighs around his head, pushes him even closer, her hand digging into his scalp. His position, bent at the waist, begins to feel uncomfortable so, emboldened, he climbs on the bed, on all fours, making sure to hold his ass up to give Goldsworth easy access.

 Over Alexander's lanky body, Francesca and Ricky share a dirty, self-satisfied grin.

Francesca's been more than aware of Ricky's growing obsession with his manservant in the past weeks, so she's been flirting with him, if only to make it easier for Ricky to finally take the plunge and make a move. Ricky would never admit being scared, but maybe he is, a little bit, of what this could mean for him and the Mayor.

For now, however, Ricky didn't look scared, as he pushed Alexander's pants and underwear down to his knees and leant in, close enough to bite the apple of one of Alexander's cheeks – his teeth brushing the pale skin before pressing in enough to make Alexander groan. Alexander pushes back into Ricky, as much as he can with his head in the grip of Francesca’s thighs.

Ricky lets out a dark chuckle. “Eager little slut.”

He licks a sloppy trail from Alexander’s balls to the small of his back, pulling a keening whine out of Alexander’s throat.

Alexander's hands tighten on Francesca's thighs and he almost chokes on her juices as he gasps at Ricky's words and ministrations.

“Do this often?” Francesca asks, pushing his face harder against herself, almost grinding against it.

She knows the answer but it’s more fun to play. “Does he bend over for you when I'm not around?”

Ricky pulls from Alexander’s ass with a lewd squelch. “Sadly, Mr. Mayor has always been a bit shy. It took a woman’s touch to remove that stick up his ass.”

At these words, he rams his tongue deep into Alexander, whose shout can be heard clearly, even muffled against Francesca.

She would have said something smug about how she didn't think that was going to be a problem anymore, but she’s just about out of her mind with lust. Her hands tighten in Alexander's hair as she fucks his mouth, gasping, “aah, ha, Alex, Rickyyy...”

 All of a sudden, she’s squirting in Alexander’s mouth, and he didn’t know that was a thing, but she’s obviously enjoying herself, and the thought that he provoked _that_?

“You taste so good, Mistress,” he says hoarsely, because he wants to spur her on, he wants to know how Ricky will react, he wants more of everything that’s going on right now.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” she says in a strangled voice, and it's faint but she's blushing – he's actually made Francesca Norris blush – and she's coming and coming, smushing his face against her folds as she rides the wave.

At some point, Ricky's pulled back to watch, a stunned look on his face, but they don't notice yet. She's oversensitive now, so she pushes Alexander off her with a gasp, and his dripping wet face falls against the mattress.

Before he can get too comfortable, Ricky's pulling him up, a strong arm wrapped around his chest, and he positions himself behind him so he can rub his cock against Alexander's ass. His other hand is tight in Alexander's hair and he pulls his head back so he can lick and bite at his mouth with a passion that borders on madness.

Alexander can do nothing but pant in Ricky’s mouth, overwhelmed by so much sensation.

“Please, Master Goldsworth,” he whines.

“Tell me what you want.”

“Please,” he begs. His head is swimming – he can’t focus on anything but the sheer want that fills him. “Fuck me.”

Ricky has teased and flirted about this day for ages, but did he ever think he’d really have Alexander Mayer begging for his cock, completely of his own volition? He’d walked by Alexander’s sleeping quarters on more than one occasion as he’d thought of it, but he couldn’t imagine it ending in any other way than him holding Alexander down and taking him _despite_ his cries and not _because_ of them. Somehow, despite his sadism, he hadn’t quite convinced himself to go that far, even though he couldn’t really justify to himself why he shouldn’t just take what was his anyways.

If Francesca knew she might say he was going soft, but he’d been unfortunately taken with Alexander since that very first night, when he gave him dinner after making him clean his house. It was only soup – nothing fancy. A paupers meal, really, meant to embarrass him, but the way his eyes lit up when he tasted it, the way he looked at Ricky like he was a kinder man than he was, had put him to shame and spoiled his baser appetites for some time.

To have Alexander actually asking to be fucked by him seemed like nothing short of a miracle. Ricky doesn’t question it; he pulls back to find some lubricant in his bedside drawer – getting himself off while Alexander was nearby had been a habit of his for quite some time now.

“Alright, doll, stay still so I can get you nice and ready for me, sweetheart.” He could pretend those words were acidic, intended to shame the blushing manservant, but deep down he knows that might not be quite true.

“Yes, Master,” Alexander stammers.

His legs are shaking from exhaustion and desperation, but he stays still like he was ordered to. A finger breaches his hole – not as unpleasant as he’d expected, probably because Ricky’s tongue prepared him for it, but also because Ricky is being much gentler than Alexander ever thought he could be.

From her spot next to them on the bed, her hair fanned out around her head, Francesca watches the way Ricky’s nose scrunches up in his concentration and realizes, not for the first time, that this is more than just sex for him. He’s checking to make sure each finger he breaches into Alexander’s ass serves one sole purpose: to please the man quivering beneath him.

Francesca has fucked her fair share of goodies and baddies along the way, and they were not all half as interested in her pleasure as Ricky is. It maybe why she keeps coming back. The kisses Ricky leaves along the bumps of the Mayor’s spine only further proves this idea to her as he slicks himself up and lines his cock to Alexander’s ass.

Ricky plasters himself over his back, dwarfing his lanky body with sheer muscle – tan hills and white valleys painting a stark contrast against the dark sheets.

“I’m gonna take you now, Alexander,” he says, his voice almost croaky with how rough and aroused and intimate it is. “Are you ready?”

Alexander begins to shake with desire and exhaustion at holding himself up. “Y-yes master,” he says in a thin voice and Ricky lets out a low chuckle, kisses his jawline like he’d been wanting to do.

“You can call me Ricky, how about that?” he asks before pushing in.

Alex lets out a long, keening moan – this is better than anything he’s ever experienced. The overwhelming feeling is stronger than his now feeble arms and he can’t hold himself up any longer. He’s about to collapse face down on the mattress when Francesca sits up and brackets him between her arms. She kisses his cheeks and forehead and nose, gazing fondly at him.

“Look at you, you’re doing so well. Ricky’s giving it all to you and you’re taking it like you were made for it. I’m so proud of you, my baby.”

Alex never would have dreamed of touching Ricky's girl any more than he would have dreamed of getting between Ricky and Francesca, but now, that's where he rather literally is, mouth slack and face pink as Francesca holds him up and kisses him sweetly, Ricky settling inside him. The combined forces alone are almost enough to make Alex want to cry or shy away from their soft treatment.

Indeed, his cheeks are pink as she holds him and speaks so lovingly to him. Her silky soft hair brushes against his face and she smells like lilac and sex. He whimpers, and she hushes him before looking up. Ricky looks gutted: like he's been socked in the stomach, like he could hardly have ever envisioned a scene like the one unfolding before him now.

“Alright, Ricky?” she asks him, and he nods dumbly. “You wanna fuck him now?” she asks him sweetly and he nods again. “Go on then,” she encourages, stroking Alex's head and squeezing his cheeks. “He's ready for you.”

 Ricky adjusts his grip on Alex’s hips, the very hips he’s been dreaming about for weeks. He pulls out and then rams right in, confident that Alex can take it rough. He’s rewarded by a sobbing moan coming out of Alex’s mouth, and he thrusts again and again, delighting in the sinful sounds he never thought the Mayor could make.

Alex is the only one still partially dressed – he's still wearing his butler's shirt and jacket, and he must be overheating, but all it does is serve to make him look more debauched,  fulfilling the fantasy that Ricky – and Francesca for that matter – have had about taking him when he's in the midst of performing his duties.

Francesca helps holding him up – his arms shake as he's being utterly fucked. She keeps up a running commentary as if she can't help it: “Look at you, taking it like you were meant to – such a good boy for your master, for both of us – ” she coos at him and he can barely respond with anything other than moans.

“Please,” he moans. “I need – ”

He can’t say it, he’s too far gone, but his untouched cock is angry red and rock hard, bobbing against his stomach with every thrust of Ricky, leaking, desperate to come.

Francesca drinks his moans and coos soothingly. “Shh, it’s alright, let me take care of you.” She wraps a hand around his cock, soon joined by Ricky’s hand – he wants to take care of his boy, to do right by him. Together they start a pumping rhythm that soon has Alex panting and gasping.

Ricky kisses the back of Alex's neck as he thrusts into him, meeting Francesca's eyes over Alex’s bent head. It's funny – the two of them have fucked countless times, and yet Ricky's palm brushing over her delicate one, moving in tandem on Alex's cock, feels about as intimate as they've ever been.

“It's okay, you can come, baby,” she tells him sweetly as Alex looks on the verge of passing out from pleasure.

Ricky groans, “Come on, Alex – come for me, sweetheart,” and that's all it takes for everything to go white.

Francesca holds out her hand to Alex, feeds him his own come, and he licks it eagerly, completely undone, unable to do anything but obey like the natural servant he is. Ricky can’t take it anymore. He can’t see Alex’s face, but judging by the way his shoulders are sagging, and the soft look on Francesca’s face – he’s never seen her look so soft before – he can tell Alex must look like a complete wreck.

“Thank you Mistress,” Alex says once Francesca’s hand is clean, and Ricky needs nothing more to plunge over the top.

Ricky's dominated people before: that's nothing new. He's not entirely right in the head, or so he's been told: he's fucked lesser mafiosos and made them lick their own come from the floorboards out of a sense of pure sadistic want. He’s left them ruined on the floor.

 _This_ is so... different from that, and he can't explain why, but when he's emptied himself into Alexander, he falls onto his back and lets himself breathe for a while, inhaling Alex’s scent, allowing himself to feel what it’s like to be pressed up along his back like a lover.

Alex lets out a purr, nuzzling into Francesca, a hand pawing blindly behind him to find Ricky. The hand settles on Ricky’s thigh, rubbing needy circles into it, and Ricky comes to a decision he’s never reached before with anyone else – not even Francesca. They can stay the night.

 ✾❃✾❃✾

Ricky doesn't like to share his space with others – that's something Francesca has learned a long time ago. He'll fuck her silly and then offer her a bath and, if it’s late enough, a guest room, but she's never shared a bed with him before. It's always those quiet moments that Ricky can't stand – he can't allow those moments of intimacy to build and grow, always has to move things along.

If Francesca didn't know better she'd say he gets shy about those things, but when she's particularly frustrated with him she thinks he's just being a man. They’re not exactly exclusive – she knows he fucks other people, even before tonight, and he knows she does too. They don’t talk about it, and Ricky doesn’t pretend to hold a real claim over her beyond those nights they share.

However, one night, he came to her hotel and saw her neck still bore the bruises of a much-too-inelegant cop who apparently was into choking: something that had started out fun and turned into a bit of a nightmare. When Ricky saw the purplish marks she hadn't been able to disguise with makeup, she'd tried to play it off like it wasn't a big deal, but he flew off the handle. It's the only time she ever was afraid of him, but despite his rage he didn't lay a finger on her. She never saw that cop again, but there were rumors. Though she kept on as normal, she knew things were different. She recognized the same men outside her hotel a few days in a row, and realized after a quiet panic they were guarding her from a distance. Ricky didn't say anything but it was a hell of a love note.

So when Ricky walks out of the room, she figures that’s it for the night. She starts gathering her clothes across the room. But Ricky does what he’s never done before. He comes back with two damp washcloths. He hands her one, pressing a soft kiss on her lips and pulling her back to the bed. He uses the other to clean up Alexander, still prostrate on the bed, chest heaving and eyes dazed. Ricky cleans him up tenderly, lovingly even. He frees Alex from his tangled up clothes and helps him under the covers. Francesca bites back whatever she wants to say – she’s learned with time that with Ricky, it’s better to take what he offers and not ask questions.

Alexander is thin, maybe too thin, Francesca thinks, and if the little frown on Ricky’s face shows anything, it’s that he might be thinking along the same lines. These are tough times they’re living in, after all, but Ricky’s never been one to let something like that get in his way. That sleepy stupor that’s fallen over Alex suddenly clears into something akin to panic as the manservant seems to recognize he’s in a place where he doesn’t belong.

“Mr. Goldsworth, Sir,” Alex stammers, looking shyly at Ricky’s muscled torso instead of at his face, like he’s afraid he might be upset at him, even after being tucked in by the man himself.

“Ricky,” Ricky corrects him, and he leans over and pushes Alex’s hair from his forehead. “I told you to call me Ricky when we’re in bed.”

Alex’s amber eyes are wide and his throat bobs as he considers this. “But – ”

“And I want you to sleep here tonight.”

“B-but-”

Ricky presses his lips to Alex’s in a way that finally shuts him up.

”Would you do me the favor of staying the night?” Ricky asks and Francesca wonders if Alex knows how rare that is: how rare he is that Ricky has _asked_ him: Ricky tells. He doesn’t ask.

“Yes, Ricky,” Alex says softly, relaxing into the mattress as Ricky takes place under the covers with him.

Ricky holds the sheets open, waiting. “Francesca?”

She won’t have to be asked twice. She slides in, curls herself around Alex’s back and presses a tender kiss to his temple. She’s hit with an almost motherly urge to protect him – she who’s never been the nurturing type before, but something in his eyes, so broken and desperate for love, makes her want to tuck him close and kiss it all away.

✾❃✾❃✾

Ricky doesn’t allow himself to get close to people. He’s made that mistake before.

A little over a year ago he was told that Francesca was found dead in Norway. The body he examined was almost unrecognizable, but the acidic feeling in his throat and in his stomach was all too familiar.

He’d been new to the game when they took his kid brother. He hadn’t meant to turn down this path, Jake didn’t like it, but it was only a temporary solution for a couple of sons of immigrants finding their way in Hollywood. The men that killed Jake went through hell before they died. He made sure of it. Revenge was sweet: he’d tasted it more than the average man, savoured the taste of it on his tongue. But it didn’t bring him back. You couldn’t bring anyone back.

Of course, the Isdal woman wasn’t Francesca after all, but that didn’t make that fear go away. Their lives are dangerous. One day their luck might run out. He wouldn’t allow her attachment to him make that day come that much quicker.

Alexander was never supposed to mean this much to him. Here he is, this scrawny, pitiful would-be politician of Tinseltown. Ricky wanted to hate him. Wanted to make his life miserable the way they made his family’s life a living hell. But Mayer is different than the others.

Alexander shook when he went by: by all accounts this never should have happened. He should think him a coward. Ricky hates cowards. Instead, he feels the need to protect Alex, and as he meets Francesca’s eyes in the dim light of the bedroom he knows by some miracle she feels the same way.

A new kind of danger: one he hopes he won’t live to regret. But for now, for once, Ricky allows himself to just enjoy the moment, an arm slung around Alex’s too-bony waist, his hand resting on the hips of his girl.

Alex tangles his legs through theirs, fingers stuttering against Ricky’s chest, as if he wants to pull him closer but doesn’t know if it’s allowed. His eyes flutter shut from exhaustion and Ricky, against his better judgment, presses the softest of kisses on each of his eyelids. 

“Sweet dreams, babydoll.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be on the look out for more in the upcoming weeks! Thank you in advance for your kudos, comments, and support.


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